


Make for My Heart as Their Home

by Mount_Seleya



Series: The Book of the Mother [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Babies, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Forced Marriage, Not Beta Read, POV Jon Snow, Post-Season Six, Referenced Past Rape/Non-con, Showverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/pseuds/Mount_Seleya
Summary: "Every time we deal with an enemy, we create two more." The former King in the North and Queen of the Andals welcome twins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was motivated to cannibalize a [prompt I posted](http://valar-morekinks.livejournal.com/4880.html?thread=2047760#t2047760) at the valar_morekinks community after it received a wonderful fill. This fic can be read as a continuation of that fic ( _[Surrender](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8299567)_ by half_life; note the non-con tag), but it also functions as an independent work.
> 
> Title from the song "Wolves" by Phosphorescent.

The babe squirmed in Jon's arms, turning big, black eyes up at him as she let out a mewling coo. His heart leapt within his chest, and he looked over to the bed, where Cersei lay with a second tiny dark head pressed to her breast. Her short blonde hair was plastered to her forehead by dried sweat and there were shadows ringing her eyes.  
  
"Have you chosen names?" Jon asked.  
  
"Joanna for the girl," Cersei stated, eyes fixed on the babe in her arms. "It's traditional for fathers to name sons."  
  
Jon closed his eyes. Blew out an uneasy breath. "I always thought, if I had a son, I'd call him Robb."  
  
"Pick whatever name suits your fancy," Cersei replied, her voice as tight as a drawn bowstring.  
  
"I know what they did to him. Word reached the Wall." Jon opened his eyes, his lashes sticking together, unexpectedly wet. "I don't even have his bones. Nor Lady Stark's. They belong with Father and Rickon."  
  
Cersei said nothing, just raised her free hand, fussed with the lambswool blanket swaddling their son.  
  
Jon let his head fall against the high back of his chair. Heaved in a long, skittering breath through his nostrils. His daughter burbled, restless, and he tilted a smile down at her, stroked her cheek with a knuckle.  
  
"Damon," Cersei offered after a span of silence. "It's the only name the Lannister and Targaryen lines share."  
  
"Aye, it'll do," Jon said, lifting his head and nodding at his wife. He didn't ask why she knew the Targaryen family tree.  
  
The babe jerked his mouth away from Cersei's breast. Cersei pulled her white shift back up the slope of her shoulder. "I suppose your aunt will march me out to the block as soon as I'm recovered enough to walk."  
  
Jon swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I'm going to ask her to imprison you in the Maidenvault."  
  
At that, Cersei's head shot up, shock inscribed in the lines of her face for an instant before she schooled it away. "She'll never countenance it, Snow. She's stayed her hand for the Targaryen get I bore. She won't stay it any longer."  
  
"I don't want my children to grow up motherless," Jon insisted.  
  
"They won't," Cersei responded flatly. "Another bride shall be found for you swiftly."  
  
"I pledged myself to you, Cersei," Jon said, his vision wavering as tears rose anew in the corners of his eyes. "For good or ill, I swore a vow. I became your husband in the sight of gods and men."  
  
The use of her name would've been mutinous only a few moons ago. Now it felt strangely right. A single truth in a multitude of lies. He had wedded her upon pain of his siblings' deaths; lain in their marriage bed like a sacrifice upon an altar. And yet, for all the terrible things she'd done, he couldn't find it within himself to hate her. Not after all the nights she'd jolted awake beside him with a cry of one of her dead children's names, and he'd pulled her against his chest and held her fast, even as she'd trembled and twisted and hissed, _Let me go, bastard_.  
  
A bitter laugh escaped Cersei's lips. "Have you fallen for me? Oh, you poor boy."  
  
"No," Jon whispered, iron in his voice despite the wetness in his eyes. "But I could have."  
  
"In the world of a minstrel's song, perhaps," Cersei rejoined, acid in her tone. "Where all is good and pure and light."  
  
"You speak of the world as if it's a fixed thing. As if cruelty and death are natural. The world is what we make it."  
  
"The world is what _men_ make it. Women may wield only what little power we are granted. Beauty, fertility, old names.  I won't be judged by you, Snow. Nor will I be saved. I played a man's game, and I won – for a time."  
  
_I'm not like most men you've known_ , Jon thought. _I'm not afraid of being a woman's equal_. But there was nothing he could say in response that wouldn't make him sound brittle and vain, so he held his tongue, drew a deep breath.  
  
The babe in his arms began to wail suddenly. "Bring her to me," Cersei directed, her voice low and even.  
  
Rising from the chair, Jon walked over to where his wife lay, lowered Joanna gently into her waiting arms. Her chin tipped upwards, and for a moment he held her gaze, her green eyes glinting in the low candlelight. Then he plucked the slumbering bundle from her lap and turned to pace the stretch of carpet between the bed and the chair.  
  
"They have your look," Cersei remarked once their daughter got a latch.  
  
"Aye," Jon said, looking down at his son's face. His eyes were closed, long, dark lashes curving against his cheeks. The downy wisps clinging to his scalp were as curly and black as the hair on his twin sister's head.  
  
"You've no inkling of what's in store for you, Snow," Cersei told him. "These little ones shall own you body and soul. With each passing day, your love for them will grow, and nothing they do – _nothing_ – will ever unroot it."  
  
"They won't be..." The words caught in Jon's throat. He forced himself to swallow. "I won't let them become..."  
  
"Like Joffrey?" Cersei laughed, but it wasn't cruel this time, merely sad. "One doesn't get to choose a child's nature."  
  
"But you can shape it," Jon averred, turning around and meeting his wife's gaze.  
  
"You can try," Cersei drawled, cocking her head at him and smirking.  
  
Anger rose within Jon before he could tamp it down. "You think me a fool?" he snapped.  
  
"I _know_ you are a fool," came the smooth reply.  
  
"I'm the man I am because of my father!"  
  
"Ned Stark certainly put great stock in duty and honour. Look where it got him."  
  
Refusing to take the bait, Jon closed his eyes, struggling to keep the fingers cradling his son's head from trembling. Half a year as a hostage in the Red Keep had taught him to cage the wolf inside him. As queen, Cersei had taken him as her husband to bring the North to heel, revelling in his forced submission, glutting herself on his fury and pain. But she had no power over him and his siblings now that Daenerys had claimed the Iron Throne.  
  
With a heavy exhalation, Jon opened his eyes, then turned and slumped down into the chair. He sat rocking Damon for a long moment, letting his gaze drift, unmoored, across the finely-appointed length of the bedchamber.  
  
"There are so many ghosts between us," Jon said at last, looking at Cersei once more.  
  
Cersei's lips pressed together into a taut line. The pale arc of her throat flexed as she swallowed. Her eyes met Jon's, hard and shining, and he was struck by the sudden sense that she was recalling the faces of her four dead children.  
  
In knowing the keen cut of loss, at least, they were one.  
  
"Take them to Winterfell," Cersei said. "Away from my brother's meddling. Away from your aunt's mercy. Away from everything."


End file.
